Little Shop of Horrors review: A near flawless revival of cult musical classic

By Jason Blake

UpdatedFebruary 24, 2016 — 8.22pmfirst published at 11.59am

LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS Hayes Theatre Company, February 23. Until March 19

Granted, Howard Ashman and Alan Menken's cult musical about a nebbish​ nurturing a carnivorous plant isn't the greatest show ever written. It mightn't even be the greatest rock 'n' roll musical ever written, though for my money, it's certainly top five.

Brent Hill as Seymour Krelborn in Little Shop of Horrors at the Hayes Theatre. Credit:Jeff Busby

But under the green thumbs of director Dean Bryant, designer Owen Phillips, choreographer Andrew Hallsworth​ and musical director Andrew Worboys​ – the team responsible for a red hot Sweet Charity two years ago – Little Shop of Horrors looks more like a department store. Everywhere you look, there's something you want to take home.

Based on Roger Corman's B-grade 1960 movie, and faithful to its bleak plot arc (unlike the 1986 film musical staring Rick Moranis and Steve Martin, the ending of which was reworked after negative feedback from test audiences), Little Shop of Horrors, in theory, should offer few surprises. Yet this tightly framed staging makes more or less everything seem fresh.

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Phillips' kookily angled monochrome set and Tim Chappell's costumes nod to Corman's original low-budget vision of Mushnik's Skid Row flower shop, a home to grown-up foundling Seymour Krelborn (Brent Hill) and a workplace-cum-refuge for Seymour's unrequited love, Audrey (Esther Hannaford), a heart-of-gold floozy in thrall to a sadistic dentist.

With no one to lavish his feelings on, Seymour turns his attention to a strange but sickly new plant he christens Audrey II. Once Seymour has the key to its survival (human blood), the plant thrives. Within days, its spectacular growth turns Mushnik's store into a horticultural hot spot and suddenly Seymour is on the road to national celebrity.

But at what cost?

Performances across the board are first rate. Hill's baby-faced Seymour is excellently sung and sweetly played, to the point where we can easily accommodate his occasional acts of manslaughter and dismemberment.

Tyler Coppin gives us a comically venal Mushnik. Scott Johnson's chortling dentist, high on his own supply of laughing gas, is delivered with a winning touch of self-mockery. Dash Kruck​ pitches in sharp cameos and the show's three-woman chorus (Josie Lane, Chloe Zuel and a scene stealing Angelique Cassimatis) is a sassy pleasure.

In a remarkable act of vocal schizophrenia, Hill also provides the soulful growl of Audrey II. It's not quite ventriloquism – you can see Hill's lips move if you can tear your eyes away from the rampaging vegetable that comes to dominate the stage – but the effect is eerily satisfying. Audrey II can seem like some garish priapic extension of Seymour, the embodiment of his darkest desires.

A highly coloured Act II reveals Audrey II in all its considerable glory. Bloated, veiny and insatiable, it's an arresting sight, especially when gulping down castmates, whose voices are then incorporated into an increasingly unearthly howl. Erth​ Visual and Physical, who designed and built this Audrey II, have created a masterpiece.

Direction and choreography are seamlessly intertwined. Sound (Jeremy Silver) and lighting (Ross Graham), likewise. Anchored by Konrad Ball on bass and Andy Davies on drums, the offstage band grooves hard and the sound in this small room is clear and full.

It is hard to imagine a more satisfying revival of this beloved minor classic.